


Once A Christmas Eve

by Mouse9



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, It's always Christmas Eve, Reincarnation, Sherlolly Secret Santa 2020, Sort Of, missed oppertunities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28303815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse9/pseuds/Mouse9
Summary: They keep missing each other, given a chance to have forever and having it taken away at the last minute.Until finally, that moment is taken.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 19
Kudos: 64
Collections: Sherlolly Secret Santa: 2020





	Once A Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/gifts).



**1654- Alderney**

The door to the little pub opened and brought with it the cold and the biting wind as well as a bit of the snow.

“Bloody ‘ell, it’s ruttin’ col’ out there!” the gruff voice of a grizzled man shouted over the howling of the wind as he struggled to shut the door. The sounds were cut off and warmth reestablished to the pub as he stomped his feet from snow and ambled his way up to the bar, dropping his rucksack on the scarred wood beside him. ‘Not a night fit for man nor beast.”

“And yet, here you are.”

The brown stained teeth peeked though an open maw in the wild beard. 

“Aye, and here I be. Fetch me a whisky Molly luv, there’s a good girl. Lord, you’re a pretty sight for sore eyes.”

Laughing, the barmaid, poured a glass of whisky for the grizzled man and set it on the bar in front of him. 

“You’re kind to say so Dag, but you won’t be getting a free drink from me for saying it.”

The man took his first drink, sighing as the warmth spread down his gullet. Satisfied he was comfortable, Molly went back to cleaning the glasses and keeping a weathered eye over her patrons.

A tiny woman with a mass of soft mahogany locks, Molly came to the harbor town five years back looking for work. Nobody knew her story, but they knew she was well bred and kind. The owner, an older man by the name of Pete Kincaid took pity on her and gave her work. She took to it expertly, learning how to lay down whisky and ale and keep a tidy bar. It wasn’t long before Molly had won the heart of not only the regulars but the sailors that would come to port. 

No one messed with their Molly, the town men who went to the pub saw to that. She was their one bright spot, this tiny slip of a woman who could curb the angriest of men with her wit and her charm.

While she was kind and friendly to everyone, there was one man in particular that held her heart. Captain William Holmes of the HMS Baskerville was a captain in the His Majesty’s Navy. Although there were rumours that his was nothing more than a legal pirate, Captain Holmes nevertheless did his job for King and country. From the moment he made port in Alderney and stepped into the harbor pub, Molly was smitten. While the captain didn’t seem equally as caught, it wasn’t soon before the HNS Baskerville was in port more than it had normally been and the captain was at the bar telling tales of his adventures to an attentive Molly.

She still kept to her duties but her attention was focused solely on Captain Holmes. Even though he’d made it clear that the sea was his home, his love and his cruel mistress, still, he kept returning to this harbor for a bit of calm.

On one of his visits, he gifted her with a silver chain and a matching locket. It was this locket and chain she wore this evening as she laid down whiskey and ale for her patrons, a weathered eye on the front door. It was Christmas Eve and while the pub was steady, most men were at their homes, preparing for the next morning.

Captain Holmes had promised her, on his last port of call, that he would be here for Christmas and Molly was anxious. As of yet, he had never broken a promise to her, as rare as those were. 

“Fetch us another round, Molly girl!” the men at the table in the corner called out. Gracing them with one of her sweet smiles, she pulled five tankards and carried them over to them. 

“You’d better settle at the end of the night Patrick Muldoony or even my words won’t quell Master Kincaid’s shouting.” 

Five tankards were set before the men and Muldoony laughed. “You have my word Molly girl, I’ll be square by night’s end.”

The door opened again, the squall of the wind suddenly loud in the pub. The cold brought in a tall figure wrapped in a thick blue scarf and Molly glanced up, her eyes widening in delight as the door was shut behind him and the scarf was unwound. 

“Captain Holmes.”

The bright green blue eyes brightened at her words and he shook out his heavy coat before taking a step further into the pub. 

“I did say I would be here for the holiday.” He sniffed. She grinned at him, a hand on her hip. 

“Aye, you did. And I for one am grateful. Take a seat Captain and I’ll bring you something to warm your bones.”

The smirk on his lips and the heat in his eyes as he did as he was bade told her what he’d prefer to have to warm his bones.

She poured him a whiskey and brought him a bowl of her best stew, then took the chair beside him as he ate. 

“How long are you in harbor?” 

“Alas, only tonight Molly,” he answered as he ate. “We head out for Antigua at first light. The orders came yesterday but I told my men there would be a one day reprieve for the holiday.”

She laid a hand on his arm, the stiff fabric of his coat cold and comforting under her palm. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”

Holmes remained in his seat, slowly sipping his whiskey and watching everyone while Molly served, talking with her when she had time to spare. Soon the pub closed and she sent everyone back out into the cold, back to their homes or their ships with warm loose limbs and fully stomachs. All save one, Holmes remained where he sat, watching her as she cleaned and straightened. 

“You’re more a mother to these men than a barmaid,” he said. “That’s why they are all so fiercely protective of you.”

“And you, Captain Holmes?” She asked as she tossed her towel behind the counter and leaned over to pick up an object. “Is that what I am to you as well?”

Silently, he lifted his hand and she came to him, falling easily into his lap when he pulled. 

“You are nothing like my mother, Molly. You are so much more.”

She smiled, running her hand over his neatly kept beard. “William, my own. Here.”

She handed him a gift; wrapped in red and tied with a white rope. “Happy Christmas.”

Taking the gift, he set it aside to pull her closer into his arms. “I need nothing but your warmth and company.”

“You have both, Sir, as well as my heart.”

He thanked her for the gift, his mouth pressing against hers urgently, achingly slow and tender. 

Without words, she stood, locked up the bar and taking his hand, led him up to the back where her rooms were located. 

The next morning, with a kiss and whispered words, Captain William Holmes took his gift and left Molly’s arms for his ship, ready to return to his true mistresses embrace.

Six months later, word was received that the HMS Baskerville was lost in battle, taken by the seas. Molly never saw William again.

* * *

**1763- New Castle, Delaware**

The snow was thick along the open ground of New Castle and there’s where the danger lay. Untouched snow meant it would be easier to track him. Best to stick to the forest where he could follow the tracks of the wild animals, easier to mask his own footsteps from anyone trying to find him. 

Damn Charles for sending that proclamation. And damn his brother for not sending work of it’s impending arrival! William Holmes had known the Seven-year war would be ending soon, had seen the signs on the horizon. What he hadn’t known was that King Charles would make a Treaty with Paris giving the land beyond the Appalachians to the French thereby significantly blocking off the Colonist from expanding. Already he could see the discontent rumbling and he could track the line of discontent straight to New York. There were a few men there, loud men with the ability to make their voices heard, that were talking. He had no doubt that soon, there would be talk of independence from England in these colonies of the Americas. 

He needed to get word to England, get word to Mycroft and more than likely, get home. But first…

The forest ended at a small farmhouse. There was a small open area behind the homestead where his footprints would be noticed but there was nothing he could do about that. As carefully as he could, under the cover of moonlight, he ran to the closest barn, and from there the house with the warm firelight glowing from the paned windows. 

Kicking snow from his boots, he pounded on the sturdy wooden door. The sound of shuffling was heard, then the door opened and she stood there, wrapped in a shawl and staring at him wide eyed. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” she hissed as he pushed past her and into the warmth of the house. “They could be looking for you at this moment.”

“I had to see you.” He answered, running a hand over his dark locks as she shut and bolted the door. “You know I did. It’s Christmas.”

“Not yet you fool.” Sighing, she placed a hand on his arm as she passed. “Let me make you something warm.”

Helpless he followed her into the dark kitchen, lit only by a single candle. 

“Molly…”

“Reverend Moriarty stopped by with men from his congregation today,” she interrupted him as she placed a bowl over a wood burning stove. “Is it true, William?” She finally turned to him. “Are you a spy for the Crown?”

Damn the man. He knew it was dangerous, but the siren song of the Quaker widow had kept him rooted here far too long.

“It is true that my brother sent me here to teach me tolerance and hard work.” He said carefully. “And it is true that my brother works for the Crown. If those two things damn me, then…”

She stared at him silently and he could almost believe, in times like these, that she was able to read his mind. She turned back and scooped some stew into a bowl and set it before him. 

“It doesn’t matter.” She finally said as she took a seat beside him. “We took a vow, no harm will come to anyone under our roof and even though my dear husband is dead and gone, I still hold to the core of my beliefs. I have spoken to the Elders and they will protect me.”

She looked around the room. “It may mean that I must leave my home, but I will not come to harm.”

The stew was hearty and warmed his bones but it tasted like ash as he listened to her speak. Reaching out, he placed a hand over hers. 

“I am sorry Molly, would that I could save you from this, keep you here.”

She shook her head, gave him a smile. “Nay, it is not for you to apologize to me William Holmes. I would freely do it again, if you asked me.”

Abandoning his meal, he took both of her hands. “Come with me. I am going to send word to my brother to go back to England. Come with me.”

Her dark eyes widened in surprise, but she didn’t pull away from him. “I…I can’t. This is my home.”

“Molly, your family is across the sea, your husband is gone, and you are alone. Come with me. I promise, I can make you happy.”

Her eyes softened and she stroked his cheek. “You have already made me happy, William. Oh!”

Letting go, she left his side, leaving the kitchen. Curious, he followed her. He found her in the front room, lit with the fire. In her hand was a package, wrapped in red fabric and tied with white ribbon. Molly held it out to him as he approached. 

“Tisn’t much, but I wanted you to have a gift.”

With trembling hands, he took the gift. “I don’t have anything for you.”

“To see your face, here, on this day, that is a gift enough for me.”

William pulled her into his arms, pressing a kiss on her brow. “Say that I can send for you. That you’ll come when I send for you.”

“Aye.”

The simple answer warmed his heart in ways that he never thought he would feel in his lifetime. Overcome with emotions, he held her tight in his arms by the fireplace long into the night. 

Before the first light of dawn, William crept from the home, his package nestled tightly against his chest, as he slipped back through the forest and towards the harbor where he could bribe a British captain to take him back home. 

As William crossed the sea for England, holding precious information for the Crown, the home he spent Christmas evening in was mysteriously burned to the ground. While no body was found in the charred tinder, Molly was never seen again.

* * *

**1894- London, England**

“Damn it all Holmes, would you just agree for once in your life?”

Sherlock Holmes stood in the center of his London flat at Baker Street watching his partner and friend rant about the room.

“As I have told you many times, Watson, the holiday season is meaningless to me. Peace on Earth and goodwill towards man should be practiced every day and yet, the Christmas season is just as fraught with violence and crime as any other day. More so in fact.”

“But..” Taking a deep breath, John Watson let it out slowly and tried again. “It would make Mary very happy if you could stop by for dinner at least. She misses your company.”

The normally stalwart expression softens. “Very well, for Mary. But only dinner. I have other plans.”

Grateful he won the small battle, Watson relaxed into what used to be his chair. “What other plans could you possibly have on Christmas?”

“Important ones.” Holmes crossed the room to gather his coat. “Now, if you have no plans for the next few hours, I would like to have my boswell with me. The case should not take up much time and you should be home to Mrs Watson before the evening.”

“I should be delighted.” Watson gathered up his hat and followed his friend out the door. “Where are we going first?”

“To the morgue.”

“Hooper.”

“Holmes.”

It was the same greeting each time, and each time, Watson covered his grin with a roll of his eyes and a clearing of his throat. His wife might find it adorable when he relayed these meeting to her but he still found them uncomfortable. 

Knowing without a shadow of a doubt that Hooper was, in fact, a woman, yet seeing her here in the morgue clad as a man and moving about death as if she were ruler of this domain unsettled him. Miss Hooper should be at home, married, tending her own house, not in the dank basement of St. Barts, looking at naked bodies of the dead. It was unseemly for feminine sensibilities. Yet he knew that Hooper was the best mortician Bart’s had ever had and because of his friend, he would never speak a word of it to anyone. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t still express his quiet disapproval. 

It was only the three of them this day. Hooper’s assistant was nowhere to be found.

“Well?” Despite the incidents of the Rigoletti case and the events at the church, Holmes still held Hooper in the same contemptible respect he always had. And they still bickered as they always had. Watson didn’t see what his dear Mary insisted was right in front of his eyes.

With her usual flourish accompanied by the twitching of the mustache, Hooper flung back part of the sheet exposing the head and the chest of a pale, washed out man. There was a thin hole in the man’s abdomen and a dark stain further down under the sheet. 

“As you see the victim was stabbed with what I determined to be an ice pick.” Hooper stated, her eyes sliding to the sheet. “His…bits were also removed.”

Watson frowned. “His..wha-Oh Good Lord!”

“Wife or mistress.”

The nose scrunched before Hooper spoke. It was a game, their game. 

“While I believe either woman was guilty of the stabbing, it was the mistress. The wife would not have mutilated her husband so.”

“Sometimes the easiest is also correct, but I agree with you, it was the mistress.” Pulling on his gloves, he nodded at Hooper who was recovering the body. “I’ll let Lestrade know-“

“Do not.” Hooper interrupted. “This is Dimmock’s case and already he is at the victim’s home interviewing the wife.”

“Idiot.” Another nod. “Come Watson, we are off for the family home to stop the Yard from making a mistake.”

Still nauseated, Watson followed Holmes, leaving the morgue. A moment later, the door opened once more, and Holmes poked his head back in. 

“We still have plans to meet tomorrow?” he asked, his previous gruffness gone. Hooper smiled, looking more like a female playing dress up. 

“Yes. I’ll expect you at seven.”

A nod and he was off once more.

Christmas Eve found Holmes sequestered at the Watson home for a delicious meal. Good food and good conversation made the time fly by quicker than even Holmes noticed and it wasn’t until the clock sounded nine that he realized how late the hour was. 

Standing abruptly, he stared at the clock on the mantle, then to his own pocket watch. Mary looked behind her, then back to him. 

“Good Lord, Sherlock, are you well?”

“Forgive me, I…I am late for a prior engagement.”

Watson frowned. “Surely you can send word tomorrow that you were held up. It’s much too late now.”

But Sherlock was already at the door, putting on his greatcoat. “I thank you but no, this is a meeting I cannot miss.”

“Holmes…”

“Dear.” Mary placed a hand on her husband’s sleeve. “If Mr. Holmes says he needs to leave, we should accept it.”

With a smile, she stepped towards him, buttoning up his coat. “Happy Christmas Sherlock.” Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“Say hello to Dr. Hooper for me.”

He gave her a knowing smirk, then nodded to Watson and was gone. 

Molly was not in her rooms. The landlady, Mrs. Norbury told him that she had heard the doctor leave his rooms around half past seven and to her knowledge, had not yet returned. She allowed Sherlock up to check.

The rooms were empty. It was as if a person had not lived there. No clothing, no personal items. The window was open, the curtains blowing cold wind into the dark and icy room. The only thing left in the abandoned room was a gift. Red wrapped with a white ribbon and a card. 

Dread building in his gut, Sherlock picked it up, flipping the card over. 

**To Sherlock**

**M xxx**

She’d gone. Disappeared. Something must have scared her enough to sneak into her own boarding rooms and back out so the landlady wouldn’t see her. 

The gasp from behind him- the landlady who was too curious for her own good and had followed him in- pulled him from his thoughts. Slipping the gift into his coat pocket, he turned and left the room, heading to the only other place he thought she’d be.

“The great Sherlock Holmes.” Anderson, Hooper’s assistant, sneered as he walked into the morgue. “Not so smart that you didn’t see through Hooper’s disguise.”

Sherlock frowned, pausing just inside the door. Saw the whole thing play out before him. The board members discovered her secret, her mustache dislodged, someone had made a grab for her, managed to grab her wig, she evaded, ducked under arms, and ran out. His attention turned back to Anderson, the toad. 

“Oh, I knew. I also knew she was a better mortician that you could ever be, Anderson.”

“You’ll never find her!” he yelled as Sherlock left the basement room. “They’ll have found her by now, taken her to the asylum!”

She wasn’t at the asylum. He’d asked Mycroft who had confirmed. Molly Hooper had disappeared on Christmas Eve, leaving him with only memories, a wrapped gift and an empty space in his chest.

* * *

**2012- London, England**

Sherlock hated Christmas. Plus, there was an interesting case he was in the middle of with the elusive Irene Adler and he simply didn’t have time to mingle with the common folk. Even if John insisted, rather firmly, that this was going to happen. 

He did his duty and played a few Christmas songs on his violin for Mrs. Hudson and that was the extent of his holiday cheer. 

“That was lovely,” Mrs. Hudson said as he gave her a small bow. Putting his violin up, he returned to his seat at John’s laptop staring at the visitor’s counter and trying to discern that nagging feeling in his gut that told him something was off kilter. 

He heard the careful footsteps on the stairs before he saw her. Molly was wearing heels. She wasn’t used to the height of them and they, combined with the bags in her hand, the ones he could hear rustle against her coat, were putting her off balance. 

“Oh dear Lord,” he sighed as she stepped into the flat. He caught a flash of black and bags as she said her hello’s, then the loud exclamations of shock from both John and Lestrade. He would not look over. Looking over would mean she was a distraction and he did not have time for a distraction. 

“Having a Christmas drinkies, then?”

“No stopping them, apparently.”

Focus. He had to focus.

“John! You’re counter. It’s still on one thousand, eight hundred and ninety five..”

“Oh no. Christmas is cancelled.”

“And you have a photograph of me wearing the hat.”

He hated that hat. He couldn’t concentrate.    
“People like the hat.”

“No they don’t. What people?”

It was easier like this. Molly was talking, he could hear her talking but not to him. She was his foil, not even Irene Adler got under his skin as much as Molly’s cheery tone was at this moment. Everything she tried to say that was conversational, he shot down. Greg and his wife? She was sleeping with the PE teacher, John’s sister? Still a drunk. It wasn’t working, nothing was working. Even John getting mad at him wasn’t distracting him from her. 

He gave in. 

Punching up from the chair, he turned and stalked towards Molly, finally getting a good look at her outfit. The bow, the earrings were utterly ridiculous, the dress, while poorly worn fit her like a glove but...it wasn’t Molly. Sherlock felt that itch under his skin. He couldn’t focus, so he did what he did best, he lashed out. 

“I see you’ve got a new boyfriend Molly and you're serious about him.”

Watching her squirm, her face go from cheery to apprehensive, soothed the itch but not enough. 

“Sorry, what?”

“In fact you’re seeing him this very night and giving him a gift.”

The itch turned sharp. Of course Molly was seeing someone, the dress, the shoes, the hair down...all for some in her life, a new beau. Someone who was going to unwrap her as if she was his very own present. Even Irene in all her “battle gear” couldn’t unnerve him the way Molly playing dress up in this dress that was not her was doing.

He picked up the box on top, red wrapped with a white ribbon and tossed it in his hand, reveling in her terrified trapped expression. The shouts from John and Lestrade were buzzing sounds in his ear, an irritating noise that he could block out when he was focused. And he was focused. It just wasn’t on what he needed to be focused on. And that rankled. So he attacked.

“The shades of red that echo her lipstick, either an unconscious association or one she’s deliberately trying to encourage. Either way Miss Hooper has love on her mind.”

He shook off John’s hand, digging in with the deduction. She wanted to be distracting, he could give her a distraction. 

“The fact she’s serious about him is evident from the fact that she’s giving him a gift at all. It would suggest long term hopes, however forlorn, and that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her make up and what she’s wearing.”

Who the hell got to see his Molly like this? This wasn’t his Molly, his Molly was layers of jumpers and shirts and ponytails and the scent of cleaning fluid and formaldehyde. Not make up and tight low cut dresses and heels too high for her to walk in. He lashed out, flipping over the card, the addict in him wanting to cut a little deeper.

“Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts…”

**Dearest Sherlock,**

**Love Molly xxx**

He flushed, hot then cold, frozen in place. He’d dug too deep and he was bleeding before her, his veins opened for her to see. And see she did. 

“You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always, always.”

Sherlock wanted to run. To hide in his room, lick his wounds. Irene was obvious with her seduction, but Molly...this wasn’t seduction. Her seduction was the scent of lemons and bleach that he couldn’t get out of his mind for days. The sight of a white lab coat. The subtle way she just cut him down with ten words. This...this was blasphemy. 

He turned to run the gift still in his hand, secured there by fear and jealousy. One step away and he stopped. 

No. Not this time. 

“I am sorry. Forgive me.”

He turned back, to face her fully. The hurt expression tore at him, digging deeper in a way he didn’t want anymore. 

“Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.”

Leaning in, he pressed his lips against her cheek. He wants this, this repentance, this small act of contrition. There, under the powder and the wax, he can smell his Molly, the hint of bleach and lemon and he sighed as he pulled away. 

His sigh was muffled by the sudden sound of an orgasmic moan. 

Damn her. Deduction, his cruel mistress, reminding him there was a case he was supposed to focus on and using that damn ringtone as a reminder. The paper Irene used was red as well, a darker shade that reminded him of her lips. Taking it into his room, he tossed the other gift, Molly’s onto the bed, in favor of opening Irene’s gift. The case was back on and just like that, the mystery was back in the forefront of his mind, everything else just easily ignored background noise.

The night was still early when Molly escaped Baker Street. She felt like she was back in secondary again, trying to dress up to impress her classmates and never really quite succeeding. The cold was making her nose red and her eyes water and frustrated she swiped a hand across her eyes.

Taking a cab because she wasn’t about to get on the train looking the way she did, it got her home earlier and she avoided the pitying look in the driver’s eyes as she paid him and hurried to her flat. 

Immediately she kicked off her shoes and peeled out of her dress. Nobody would see her except Toby and he didn’t care.

Her mobile rang as Molly was swiping off mascara. Blinking back tears, she looked at the blocked number and sighed. 

“Hello?”

“Doctor Hooper,” the smooth voice of Mycroft Holmes said on the other end. “I’m having a body delivered to Barts and I was wondering if I could trouble you to do the post mortem. You had no other plans, did you?”

The suggestion cut through her heart like an ice shard, leaving her cold and for a moment she was reminded of Kay after a shard of the Snow Queen had pierced him, leaving him cold and freezing. 

“No,” her voice was wobbly and she cleared her throat. “No, Mr. Holmes. I have no other plans.”

* * *

**2018- London, England**

The winter wind was bitter, the cold cutting through Molly’s tightly wound knitted scarf. She tugged the cap over her ears and pulled the bags of gifts from the back of the taxi as she nodded to the driver. 

Even with the bitter wind whipping around her, lifting the edges of her heavy coat and sliding its icy tendrils up between the layers, she still paused, taking in the heavy blue door that bore the numbers 221 B in gold plating. While she had been back to the famous flat many times, she hadn’t stepped foot into it near the Christmas season for almost six years. There had been excuses, leaving the city and finally, any gatherings here had just stopped. 

Now that Rosie was old enough to enjoy the idea of the holiday season, she was almost two, Molly had received an invitation to a party once more. Her first inclination was to decline, state that she was visiting her mother for the holiday. But then Sherlock had caught her off guard the week before, casually bringing it up and she’d said yes before truly thinking about it. After that, it was too late to back out.

She could still back out. Could step in, drop the presents off at the bottom of the steps, turn around and leave. Go find an open pub somewhere and warm up before catching a taxi back home. She could be in her warm pajamas, sipping hot cocoa before supper.

The door to the building opened before any plans could solidify in her mind and Sherlock Holmes peered out, his blue eyes brightening when he saw her. 

“What are you still doing out here?” he asked, pulling her into the warmth of the building. “The taxi left minutes ago.”

The wind cut off as the door was closed firmly behind her and warmth began seeping in through her thick socks. She was trapped now, could feel her heart pounding hard against her chest. As if sensing her hesitation, Sherlock took one of the bags from her hand and slipped his other hand into her now empty one, tugging gently as he began to climb the stairs.

“Come on, I have the fire set. You can warm up a little.”

Helpless, she could only follow. 

Inside the flat, lights were hung around the walls, the small tree on the side of the sitting room by the couch was lit up and filled with presents. The flat had been cleaned and the smell of baked bread wafted through the kitchen. Despite her apprehension, Molly smiled. 

“It looks nice in here. It’s…cheerful.”

“You can blame Mrs. Hudson for that. She forced me to tidy up so she could decorate.”

She gave him a look as she carefully unwrapped her scarf and un buttoned her coat. “Mrs. Hudson. She climbed up on a ladder to hand the lights? With her bad hip?”

“Okay, fine, I helped but only because she made me.” The smile said it wasn’t much of a forcing situation. She took off her coat and handed it over to him, one hand brushing back flyaway hair that had escaped her braid. She wore warm cords and a warm red jumper. A far cry from the tight black dress of years past. His gaze ran over her once, quickly and she wondered if he were judging her outfit once more.

“Where is everyone?” she asked as he hung up her coat. It was then she noticed he was still wearing his dressing gown, and no shoes. There was nobody here yet. Her lips twitched. 

“If you needed me to help set up, you could have just asked.” She said, exasperated. 

“Everything is set up.” He countered, stopping just in front of her, hands in his pockets. “Well, we’ll…I’ll have to go down in about an hour to help Mrs. Hudson bring up the food before everyone gets here, but that’s not why I asked you here early, Molly.”

She swallowed, her heart pounding hard in her chest. 

“No?”

“No.”

The image of when he’d returned from the “dead” popped in her mind, when he’d asked her to solve crimes with him. Only he was closer today, so much closer. 

“I am not the easiest of men,” He began. “I am selfish, rude, careless. I often speak before thinking. But I am trying to be a better man. For my sister, my family, my friends, Rosie, you.”

Molly stared, barely blinking, wide eyed at him as he spoke.

“I have spent this past year attempting to make amends to you, for every cruelty, every thoughtless word, every jealous act, yes, I can admit it now, there were times, so many times, I was jealous even if I didn’t completely understand what that meant. But no matter what I do, there will always be things that I can’t change.”

“Sherlock, I…”

I was awful to you the last Christmas you chose to come to my party, and I know why you haven’t returned. I don’t blame you, I am often shocked that John remained with me every Christmas season, they haven’t been peaceful nor joyous at times.”

Molly’s breath caught in her throat. He was so close now, surely he could hear the pounding of her heart. 

“There’s been something that has been prickling my conscious for some time now. I didn’t know what it was until I finally opened your present…sometime in the summer. The red caught my eye and I’m ashamed to say, I had put it on my dresser and forgotten about it. I found myself reminded of the red lipstick you wore that night so in a sense, the wrapping worked. But there was something, like I had missed my chance. And this year, that nagging grew stronger.”

“Sherlock, really, I…” she fell silent when he took her hand. 

“Molly, please. I don’t believe in ghosts and Christmas ghosts are balderdash, but there’s some things that can’t be explained. And your gift started me down a path.”

He nodded towards the mantle and Molly turned. Settled beside the skull that took residence there was a small ship in a bottle. She recognized it. Her gift to him that fateful party. She’d found it in an old antique shop, hidden amongst old books and fur stoles. It hadn’t been a pirate ship, only a ship in browns and blues, but there was something deep in her that knew this was something Sherlock would be fascinated in. She’d bought it and until now, she’d forgotten all about it. 

“Is that…”

“The HMS Baskerville? Yes. Did you know, the year of the party, John and I ended up in Dartmoor looking into a case for a Henry Baskerville? It involved a giant hound and a secret government facility that were looking into militarizing hallucinogenic gasses. Not the point. You wouldn’t have known any of that the day you found this ship. I tracked down the shop where you found it and…”

From the pocket of his dressing gown, he pulled a small gift, red wrapped with a white ribbon and held it out to her.

“My shirt is blue, not the red of this paper so there’s nothing to call to mind the giving of it, but I had hoped the memory of it would be enough.”

Molly drew in a sharp breath, eyes fixed on the package. A trembling hand reached out to take it. 

“Sherlock.” Her voice was thick with tears as she held the gift in her hands. 

“Don’t say it, yes I absolutely should have. I should have sooner, much sooner than this. There’s a link, Molly between you and I and I finally realized it the moment I held that in my hands.” He nodded towards the mantle then to the package in her hands. “It was cemented when I discovered that. Destiny is a pointless term that cannot be quantified but we, Molly, we are unquantifiable.”

Carefully she tugged off the white ribbon, then unwrapped the thick paper, folding it and putting it to the side. It was a box, white and nondescript. She opened the lid and her eyes widened. Inside, nestled in a bed of cotton was an antique silver locket on a silver chain.

“It’s beautiful.” Her voice was whispered as she withdrew the locket and held it up. It glinted against the firelight and warmed in her hands. Like it was supposed to be there. Molly looked up at him, headless of the tears in the corner of her eyes. “Thank you.”

Again he nodded to the gift in her hand. “Open it. It’s improbable, but it’s the truth. Our truth.”

Frowning at his words, Molly opened the locket, her eyes widening as she read the inscription on the inside. She looked back up at him, shocked disbelief. 

“How…”

“Tell me we haven’t missed again.” He said, hands reaching out to clasp hers once more. She smiled, slipping the necklace over her head.

“You foolish man, you haven’t missed anything.”

Rising up on her tiptoes, Molly pressed a kiss to his cheek. Or she meant to, but he turned his head at the last minute and their lips met.

The shy peck turned into something more and soon she was swept up in Sherlock’s arms, her body pressed tightly against his as his mouth opened under hers in ways she’d only ever dreamed of.

The sound of the door downstairs shutting followed by Mrs. Hudson’s voice startled them apart. 

“Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.” He whispered, face still close to hers. Because she could, Molly pressed another lingering kiss to his lips. 

“Merry Christmas Sherlock Holmes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I screwed up at the last minute! That's what I get for laughing with my son instead of making sure the anonymous was on!  
> Hope you enjoyed it anyway and Merry Christmas!


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